


Rummaging in our souls

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:18:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion to "Something that ought to have lain there unnoticed". Various scenes and snippets from that 'verse that didn't/couldn't fit into the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Something that ought to have lain there unnoticed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/548674) by [SecondStarOnTheLeft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft). 



The day had started off so well, but then the coastal beacons had been light and the bells rung, and suddenly Willas was riding to battle with Baelor and the Old Man to fight Ironmen.

Someone had said that this wasn’t a real battle, and Willas could believe that – there were so few of them, after all – but it was proving bloodier than anyone had expected, the fact that Baelor had stopped smiling was proof enough of that. Baelor _never_ stopped smiling.

Still, for a first skirmish as an anointed knight, it was ferocious enough. Willas was just glad he was fighting with Baelor, with the Old Man – he didn’t trust anyone else in the world except Garlan as much as he trusted Baelor and the Old Man, and he knew that he was safe as was possible in batt- while fighting.

The Ironmen were vicious, and talentedly so – axes and morningstars and cudgels and swords were all put to equally devastating effect, and there wasn’t a one of them had anything other than a wicked predator for a daemon, and they… They…

“Gods above,” he gasped, knocking up his visor to wipe the sweat from his eyes (yes, it was sweat, it wasn’t tears, it wasn’t) “they’re killing- they’re killing-“

“Aye lad,” Baelor snarled, ducking under an axe and laughing, sharp and short, when Willas cut down the bastard swinging it. “Aye, they go for the daemons first, so keep Rosaria close, eh?”

It was easy to keep Rosaria close, because she danced around the Ironmen’s daemons and their blades and their feet alike with a speed and fluidity that seemed to astonish them all – just as Willas had been surprised when she settled as a fox (not at all the same as Grandmother’s Selvet, who was all ears and eyes, Rosaria was sleek and delicate and deep, rich red) and not as some sort of monkey, like Mother’s Sarin and Baelor’s Catrina and Grandfather’s Melula – and she was safe, so far at least.

It was exhausting, between the sheer exertion and the weight of his armour and the constant stretch on his bond with Rosaria, and he felt sick every time she strayed too close to anyone-

“Grandfather!” he roared, slicing through a bastard – he didn’t care who he was, didn’t look at his colours – to get to the Old Man, because there was a Harlaw with a Valyrian steel blade bearing down on the Old Man and Willas could not see his grandfather die, he couldn’t, he absolutely refused to do so. “Grandfather! Move!”

But the Old Man was busy with a Drumm, and Brightsmile was busy with- gods, who gave a damn? The Old Man was in danger and Willas had to save him!

The Harlaw saw Willas coming, turned as if to face him but then turned back to the Old Man, and Willas snarled at that, his rare slow temper flaring beyond anything he’d ever felt before, and Rosaria barked her fury as they sprinted forward.

The Old Man fell heavily when Willas slammed into him, under the Harlaw’s wild swing, but Willas was up in a flash, catching the next thrust on his own sword and getting his shoulder against the bastard’s breastplate, getting him away from Grandfather, and yes, it was working, gods be good it was working, his blood was singing and everything was so bright, so sharp, and he was fighting a man wielding a blade of Valyrian steel and he was _winning!_

He was vaguely aware of Baelor and the Old Man fighting around him but none of that mattered because there was him and there was Harlaw and there was his steel forged in the High Tower’s private forge (a gift from Baelor to honour his knighthood, serving him well now) and the Valyrian steel flashing dusk-dark and dawn-bright and-

Nightfall, Nightsong, whatever it was, the bastard was swinging it towards Rosaria, the _bastard-_

There was a moment, Willas would later reflect, where his entire being narrowed to a pain so intense that it whited out his vision and erased everything but Rosaria from his perception, but at the time he was only aware of the anger, worse than when the bastard was bearing down on Grandfather, because Rosaria, Rosaria, his everything was gone and _I_ _will kill the bastard for that before I die, I will,_ and he did, he decapitated the bastard and it wasn’t enough, it still hurt so badly that his knees gave out and he knelt there and sobbed for breath because it _hurt-_

“Willas lad!” Baelor said, tearing off Willas’ helm and throwing it aside, holding his face and checking his head for injuries, “Come on, lad, Catrina has Rosaria, come on-“

“Rosaria,” Willas gulped, “I- Baelor, she’s gone, she’s gone-“

“She’s here, lad, come on, she’s here,” Baelor soothed, pulling Willas’ arm over his shoulder and heaving him to his feet, “she’s with Catrina, Catrina has her, come on, lad, let’s get you out of here before the shock hits-“

“She’s _gone,”_ Willas moaned, leaning into Baelor as he hadn’t since he was a child and Baelor came to visit at Highgarden or Mother brought Willas and Garlan to visit the Hightower, “Baelor I can’t feel her, she’s gone-“

“She’s not gone, lad,” the Old Man boomed, suddenly under Willas’ other arm. “Big hairy orange monkey now, proper Hightower daemon! Not gone t’all! Catrina and Melula have ‘er, not a worry!”

But the pain, gods the pain was spreading, his whole chest felt broken and no, they were _wrong,_ Rosaria was gone he couldn’t feel her couldn’t find her he was empty and aching and no, where _was_ she and why was he without her?!

“I killed him,” Willas choked out, “tell me I killed him, Baelor, tell me the bastard’s dead.”

“He’s dead and ten yards from his ugly head, you cut it off so hard,” the Old Man told him cheerfully. “Buck up, lad, nearly back to the maester, he’ll tell you as straight as we have that you’re alright, you and Rosie’ll be fine!”

But it hurt so horribly, such blind pain suffusing him so entirely that when they swung him up onto a bunk he rolled over and curled up as small as he could, armour and all-

And then there was a soft, leathery hand on his face, in his hair, and it was Rosaria and his heart ached all over again because he still couldn’t find her but she removed his armour one plate at a time and then they curled up together, and it… It _hurt._


	2. Ghosts

Ghost and Galia settled on the same day, Jon remembers it with a breathtaking clarity – waking up and looking at her, gleaming white and glowing red and so perfect that his breath hitched, because her name fit so well he almost but couldn’t quite laugh.

Some people (Lady Catelyn) looked askance at Jon having a direwolf daemon, some whispered that only Starks have direwolves, but Father embraced Jon just as he did Robb, Mafanwye nuzzled Ghost just as she did Galia, and later Jon and Robb sat, merry on their single cup of ale apiece, and teased that Ghost’s legs were longer, but Galia’s shoulders were heavier, but Ghost’s fur was thicker, but Galia’s eyes were bigger.

Ghost is never alone, because she is always with Rickon and Sephiel (because Jon is always with Rickon and Sephie, unless he’s with Fred and Neiman), and there are times when he sees her with Sephie who is so like Galia and Rickon who is so like Robb, and he thinks of Robb and Galia.

It never hurts to think of his brother in those moments.


	3. Without a soul

They’re used to a leader without a soul by now, Thoros supposes, because Lord Beric was as he was for so long.

At least he seemed to lament his daemon’s loss. At least he seemed to _notice._

Stoneheart, that terrible remnant of Catelyn Stark, seems not to care that she is alone in the world – she seeks only vengeance, only the deaths of every Lannister and Frey that lives because of what they did to her son.

The story of Robb Stark’s death is infamous now, of course. The debilitating wounds, wounds that would not kill him unless sepsis set in over a long while but that still left him unable to fight, the wounds that left him no choice but to hang from the arms of two nameless Freys as they tortured his daemon to death with slow injuries, so she faded a little at a time rather than simply ending with him all at once.

Joffrey Baratheon was a monster, but at least he gave Ned Stark a clean death. Walder Frey and his spawn have proved themselves less than even that monster, and in that regard at least Thoros agrees that Stoneheart has the right of it, that she is justified in rampaging as she does.

But her complete disregard for her own loneliness, that is what makes the hair on the back of Thoros’ neck stand on end, what makes his skin crawl more than her dead eyes or her torn flesh or her slit throat.

Beric Dondarrion often reached out a hand to pet his daemon’s head and, even when he was so far gone that he remembered none of their names or anything aside from his purpose, his mouth would twist and his terrible eyes fill with sorrow at the realisation, the rememberance, that he was without.

Stoneheart huddles deep in her cloak and says nothing, does nothing, until duty calls. _That_ is what makes Thoros wonder if he should have cut Beric’s head off the moment he realised his one-time friend’s intentions.


	4. Touch

The touch of Sansa’s hands on Rosaria’s hair, and her skin, and- and-

He barely holds back a moan when Sansa’s fingers curl through Rosaria’s, because that, that’s too much, he almost can’t stand up because gods, he’s already half mad with pleasure and it’s not necessarily physical, it’s something altogether more than that, it’s that the constant ache in his chest that feels like all his ribs and his breastbone are broken all of the time is _gone_ because she’s just- she’s so- she’s-

But she jumps away, gods, after everything that’s happened to her he shouldn’t expect anything else, he’s just thankful she doesn’t jump away from him when he moves to take her hands.

Gods, she so _beautiful,_ he can hardly stand it, the pale shades of moonlight through stained glass shadowing her cheekbones and her eyes, those beautiful eyes of hers, and when the words tumble from her, taking them both by surprise, his heart breaks in the best possible way because she _understands_ and even if he feels selfish for thinking like that he doesn’t care a jot, not when she’s so close and her hair smells almost of rosemary and he can’t think of anything but finding out what she tastes like, so he does, he takes her face in his hands and he kisses her.

It feels even better than her hands on Rosaria, right up until Mother walks in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-sentence fic I did on tumblr a week or so ago that fits in this 'verse.
> 
> Literally one sentence long. Sorry.

The little Stark boy intrigues her, and not because of his prematurely settled daemon - oh no, Olenna Redwyne is not one to have her head turned by such things as that, not when she has a severed grandson who is oblivious to the fact that he’s falling in love with the severed Stark girl - but rather because, underneath his wildness and bad manners, he’s devilishly intelligent, and that is the kind of friend Olenna wants to leave in place for her grandchildren when her day comes (and he makes her laugh, too, reminding her of Garlan when he was a boy, and that is always nice).


	6. Fears

When Sansa finds herself with child, she does not tell anyone, even Elorian (although he knows, she knows he knows), because she has never been so frightened in all her life.

 

All she can think of are the terrible stories people whisper when they think she and Willas cannot hear, stories about severed folk and all the things that are wrong with them.

Their families accept them completely, but beyond that there is no such ease - nobody likes to notice how Elorian and Rosaria are always just that little bit too far away, and when people started to notice how sometimes, Elorian goes with Willas when he rides out with Garlan, sometimes Rosaria sits against Sansa's legs with a book while Sansa sews with the other women during the day, well, that is just another way Lord and Lady Tyrell are strange and probably cursed, is it not?

So she keeps quiet about the babe and does not tell a soul, not even her own, until she cannot hide it, and when Willas absentmindedly runs his hand down her belly when he's lying pressed tight against her back after he's made such exquisite love to her that she cannot possibly move, she tenses, and he notices.

"Why did you not tell me sooner?" he asks her softly, so obviously hurt by what he perceives to be her distrust that she can hardly speak in the face of his pain. "Sansa-"

"I am so afraid," she whispers, and the hurt softens into understanding and then hardens into fear, because he understands (he always does). "What if, what if it's like us, Willas?"

"It will not be," he says quickly, but he sounds as terrified by the prospect as she feels, as unsure about the whole thing as she is. "This child,  _our_  child, it- it-"

"I know," she breathes, rolling over properly to face him, touching the crease in his brow because oh, oh, he is so worried and it is a sick sort of a relief to share this fear. "But what if?"

"I refuse to believe that, Sansa," he says. "Everyone told us that we couldn't feel, did they not? That we would never be able to love one another, but I love you so much I can hardly stand it-"

"And I you, you know that," she assures him, and suddenly she is in tears. "But I am still so scared, Willas. What if they are right? What if both of us being severed means there is something wrong with the babe?"

Neither of them dare voice it, but there is an old wives' tale that says the child of a severed woman will be born without a daemon, and that is enough to frighten both of them into silence.

(They do not reveal Sansa's pregnancy until they absolutely must, and neither of them sleeps a night through until Leyton is born with a daemon that Elorian and Rosaria name Olwyn, and as soon as their son is settled Sansa burrows into Willas' arms and sobs with relief.)


	7. Lord Stark

Sephiel unsettles people more even than Ghost, which always amuses Rickon - Ghost is the one who looks stranger, after all, but Sephie is as much bigger than her as he is bigger than Jon, and her eyes are wilder and brighter even than Ghost’s strange red glow.

Rickon worries them in a way Jon never did - Jon was a Targaryen by blood, true, but he looked a Stark and  _acted_ a Stark, or at least the sort of Stark Father had been. Rickon looks a Tully and a wildling, despite Sanny’s best efforts before she married south, and he hears the whispers of how alike he is to his long-dead uncle Brandon as well as he hears all the other whispers. 

They amuse him. He likes the notion of  _wolf’s blood._ He thinks that Jon and Sansa must have it as well, looking at Ghost and Elorian, just that they hide it better. 

The North is still healing, even five-and-ten years after the war, but Rickon knows it, understands it, and he does his best to help it along - Jon aids him, has ruled these long years as his regent (although Rickon knows, from Sanny’s letters, that she thought as he did that Jon would remain as Lord Stark even when Rickon came of age, but of course Jon has never forgotten his bastard birth and stepped aside in Rickon’s favour), and Sanny’s letters help remind him not to lose his temper with fool lords and fool requests.

Jon spends half the year in King’s Landing, with Fred and their children, because their Eddard is to be king when the Queen dies and the Queen much desired to have him with her all of the time, and this was the best compromise Jon could wring from his aunt. Rickon misses him during those times, but not as much as he misses Sanny, who he only sees but once a year - they swap, but every year either he travels to Highgarden or she to Winterfell, and Rickon does not mind travelling to see her because being at Winterfell makes her sad and he only ever wants her to be happy.

There are always people offering their daughters to be his wife, which is alarming - it was well enough for Jon and Sanny, who found someone they could love right away, but Rickon doesn’t quite know what to do with all these strangers who would supposedly make a wonderful Lady Stark for him, and the letters all seem to arrive when Jon is in King’s Landing and he is utterly perplexed.

(He would never admit it, because it seems a cowardly thing to do, but he burns the most of them and then writes to Sanny, begging her to come to Winterfell and help him choose a wife - because Jon is many things, but he can be very silly where a pretty woman is involved, and Rickon does not want any silliness involved in choosing his wife.)


End file.
